


Five Times Grantaire Tried to Kiss Enjolras...and One Time He Did

by enjolrasisjudgingyou



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: 5 Times, 5 plus 1 things, But he looks super hot in chapter 5, Courf throws two parties because I couldn't think of anything else to write about, Enjolras Is Bad At Communicating, Enjolras Is Bad At Feelings, Eponine and Bahorel are the world's worst matchmakers, Grantaire Is Bad At Feelings, I'll leave now, M/M, Marius momentarily ruins my otp, Minor Courfeyrac/Jean Prouvaire, Okay so Enjolras is a mess too, Pining Enjolras, Really Grantaire is Just a Mess, as you can tell i'm running out of tag ideas, because they are amazing, but hey of course they are they're Eponine and Bahorel, enjolras eats a quiche, fuck you marius, grantaire is oblivious, he always does but that is beside the point here okay, there are a lot of balloons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-02
Updated: 2021-01-04
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:41:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 11,980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26255806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enjolrasisjudgingyou/pseuds/enjolrasisjudgingyou
Summary: “Oh my Apollo, my wild Antinous...you’re my light, my shimmering sun...how I admire you, Apollo...your determination, your selflessness, your angelic beauty…” Grantaire waved a hand in the air for dramatic effect, but ended up hitting an amused Bahorel in the face. “I love you, Apollo.”“Ok, you’re done,” Eponine announced. She pushed the remaining shot glasses to the side. When Grantaire started poetically rambling about Enjolras, it was time to get the check.Bahorel ignored her. He leaned in close to Grantaire and whispered something in his ear. Grantaire furrowed his brow. “I don’t think so,” he said.Shaking his head, Bahorel gave Grantaire a reassuring smile. “If you can pull this off, I’ll pay for your drinks for the rest of the year.”“It’s December,” Eponine pointed out. She really should have been more concerned with what Bahorel was asking Grantaire to do. But at this point...fuck it. Nothing interesting had happened all night.
Relationships: Enjolras/Grantaire (Les Misérables)
Comments: 23
Kudos: 96





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> dude i really need to work on my other story......  
> i need to do my work....  
> i need to actually get some sleep soon.... 
> 
> but this fic is just happpeeenninnng okkkkk it's not my fauuullt D:

The first time Grantaire tried to kiss Enjolras, he was completely wasted. The Amis were celebrating the end of their university semester at a local bar called the Corinthe when it happened. The Cornithe was a small establishment that didn’t have a lot of seating, but it had become one of the Amis’ favorite places to gather nevertheless. It had a mysterious atmosphere and a pleasant, but sometimes rowdy, crowd. 

Currently, Grantaire was taking full advantage of the Cornithe’s “happy hour.” He sat at the counter with Bahorel and Eponine, downing one shot after the other. After his fourth, no fifth, sixth, seventh, maybe? drink, he started to lose control of his mouth. He told dirty, humorless jokes that caused a drunk Bahorel to break into meaningless fits of laughter and a mostly sober Eponine to shoot him disgusted looks. He babbled on and on about how human existence is pointless, that people live mundane, selfish,  _ useless _ lives and that life itself will never truly have a purpose. Bahorel tuned him out when he began to get cynical like this, but Eponine listened, probably more than she should. 

But Eponine knew she had to cut Grantaire off when he started mumbling about “his Apollo,” over and over again. 

“Oh my Apollo, my wild Antinous...you’re my light, my shimmering sun...how I admire you, Apollo...your determination, your selflessness, your angelic beauty…” Grantaire waved a hand in the air for dramatic effect, but ended up hitting an amused Bahorel in the face. “I love you, Apollo.” 

“Ok, you’re done,” Eponine announced. She pushed the remaining shot glasses to the side. When Grantaire started poetically rambling about Enjolras, it was time to get the check. 

Bahorel ignored her. He leaned in close to Grantaire and whispered something in his ear. Grantaire furrowed his brow. “I don’t think so,” he said. 

Shaking his head, Bahorel gave Grantaire a reassuring smile. “If you can pull this off, I’ll pay for your drinks for the rest of the year.” 

“It’s December,” Eponine pointed out. She really should have been more concerned with what Bahorel was asking Grantaire to do. But at this point...fuck it. Nothing interesting had happened all night. 

Bahorel glared at her and mouthed, “he’s too drunk to know that,” before turning back to Grantaire. “So, R...you in or out?” He grinned cheekily. 

Grantaire’s head was spinning. He knew this wasn’t a good idea, it wasn’t, it really wasn’t. But perhaps Enjolras would just chalk it up to him being drunk and comply out of pity. Yes, that sounded logical. Completely logical. Grantaire smiled. “I’m in,” he said. He stood up, his legs all wobbly, and began to make his way over to where Enjolras and Combeferre were sitting. Bahorel gave him a thumbs-up, even though he couldn’t see it. 

When he reached Enjolras and Combeferre’s table, Grantaire was sweating. He awkwardly stood there for a moment, not knowing what to say. Neither of the men had noticed him yet. They were engaged in a deep conversation, something about what the perfect form of government would look like. Grantaire cleared his throat. 

“Yes?” Enjolras turned around to face Grantaire, frowning. “We’re kind of bu---” He paused. “Grantaire, you’re incredibly red. Is everything alright? Or have you drank t--” 

He was interrupted by Grantaire bending down and cupping Enjolras’s face in his. Closing his eyes, he puckered his lips and prepared himself to meet Enjolras’s. But Enjolras immediately pushed him off, scowling. “Grantaire, stop. You’re drunk.” 

Grantaire stepped back, embarrassed. He suddenly felt a lot more sober than he wished to be in that moment. “Sorry,” he murmured. “I should go home.” 

“Don’t drive yourself,” Enjolras said. He wasn’t looking at Grantaire. “Make sure Eponine or Bahorel takes you if they’re sober.” 

That signaled the end of that extremely embarrassing interaction. Also, Combeferre was shooting daggers at Grantaire with his eyes and he wanted to get out of there as fast as he could. So he darted away from the pair and back to the counter where his friends sat, already mentally cursing them out for letting him do something as stupid as that. 


	2. Chapter 2

The second time Grantaire tried to kiss Enjolras, it was at the movie theater. The Amis (minus Eponine because she had work and Jehan and Courfeyrac because they were on a date) had all bought tickets for some musical together. Grantaire didn’t remember what it was called or what it was supposed to be about; all he knew was that the film involved singing, and that he intended on sleeping through it. He probably wouldn’t have even come if Eponine hadn’t needed to cancel and given him her ticket, insisting that he didn’t waste it. At least she gave him a bag of M&Ms to soften the blow. In Grantaire’s experience, chocolate made everything better. 

He arrived at the theater fifteen minutes early, a first for him. Quickly, he found his seat and started to drift off, the sounds of the movie previews playing in the background. He didn’t notice when Bahorel slumped down into the seat next to him until he leaned over and yanked Grantaire’s knit cap off his head. 

“Hey!” Grantaire shouted, which earned him a glare from the couple in front of them. He glared back. The real movie hadn’t started yet. Turning to Bahorel, he snatched his cap back. “What the fuck, dude?” 

Bahorel laughed. “Just keeping you on your toes, that’s all. Also, don’t look now, but “Mr. Apollo” is headed this way.” 

Grantaire spun around in his seat. Sure enough, Enjolras was there, standing by the entrance of the theater room with Feuilly and Combeferre. They started to make their way down the aisle, towards Grantaire and Bahorel. Grantaire sweared. 

“I thought Enjolras was supposed to be out of town this weekend. What is he doing here?” 

Bahorel shrugged. “Hell if I know. But why are  _ you _ so upset about it?” 

Grantaire hesitated to say anything. Lately, things had felt different between him and Enjolras. They had been fighting less often, for one. And he was acting...kinder...towards Grantaire. Not as harsh or judgemental. For the first time in all the years that Grantaire had known Enjolras, they seemed to be getting along. He couldn’t fathom why. After the embarrassing stunt he pulled last Saturday at the bar, he thought Enjolras would despise him even more. But instead, it made Enjolras...weird. After the ABC meeting ended Tuesday night, Enjolras sat down next to Grantaire as everyone was leaving and struck up a conversation, acting like it was a completely normal thing to do. For them, it wasn’t. And after a few minutes of pointless small talk, their discussion was getting awkward. 

Just as Grantaire thought Enjolras was going to leave, he said “I saw you reading _ A Tale of Two Cities  _ last meeting. It’s a good book.”

Grantaire couldn’t contain his grin. “A good book? It’s amazing. I’ve read it four times now.” 

Enjolras smiled, and held up his hand. “Five.” 

Suddenly, Grantaire jumped up from where he was sitting and propped his right leg on his chair to face Enjolras. Closing his eyes, he began his impromptu speech. 

“ It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of light, it was the season of darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair.” At the word despair, Grantaire opened his eyes and waved his hand in a dramatic flourish. Beside him, Enjolras was still smiling.

“Impressive but dramatic,” he said. 

Grantaire blushed. “Thanks,” he mumbled, and took his seat again. 

For the rest of their conversation, they discussed _A Tale of Two Cities_. Every now and again they would go a little off topic and Grantaire would tell a joke or two. And Enjolras actually laughed at them. Enjolras _laughed_. They were genuine, incredible, wonderful, laughs. Sometimes he would get a little carried away and he would snort a little bit, and it would make Grantaire start laughing himself because he was just _so damn cute_ and Enjolras would start to blush and look away. But that was probably just Grantaire’s imagination. Enjolras didn’t blush at him like that. 

They talked much longer than they meant to. Musichetta, who worked at the Musain, had to come get them at closing time and usher them out. Enjolras had insisted on walking her home since it was late, so Grantaire gave him a quick wave goodbye and headed home himself, a big smile plastered on his face.

“Hello? Grantaire!” Bahorel snapped his fingers in front of his friend’s face. “You zoned out. What’s wrong?” 

Grantaire rubbed his eyes, bringing himself back to the present. For some reason, he was a little nervous to see Enjolras right now, but it looked like he wasn’t going to have a choice. The blond was making his way across the seats to where he and Bahorel were sitting right now. “So fucking much,” he muttered quietly. Bahorel patted him on the shoulder. 

“Hey Bahorel, Grantaire,” Combeferre greeted them. He was carrying a large bag of popcorn. “Joly and Bossuet are still getting snacks. They’ll be here soon.” 

Enjolras nodded and reached over to grab a piece of popcorn from Combeferre. Combeferre swatted him off playfully. “You always say you don’t want popcorn and then you steal from me,” he complained, but gave his friend some anyway. Enjolras shrugged and grabbed more popcorn. 

“You’ve got popcorn? Sweet.” Bahorel leaned over and took a large handful out of Combeferre’s bag, who just sighed. He sat down next to Bahorel and handed him the snack. 

“You’re paying me back,” he said, defeated. 

Meanwhile, Enjolras took the seat next to Grantaire, who was trying his best to act nonchalant. “How are you doing, Grantaire?” Enjolras asked politely. There was a small smile on his face and even in the dark of the theater, Grantaire could still make out his shining blue eyes. 

Say something smooth, Grantaire thought. Act cool. He took a deep breath...and word vomited. 

“You’re supposed to be out of town this weekend,” he said, and it came off sounding harsh. Fuck, fuck, fuck. 

Enjolras’s smile immediately disappeared. “Yeah, but I don’t see how that’s your business.” 

Grantaire was panicking. He had to fix this.“Just trying to figure out why you’re still here.” Ok, no, fuck again. 

“Because I want to be.” Enjolras snapped. And there it was, they were going back to their old ways. 

Before Grantaire could respond, the movie started.  _ Saved by the bell _ . Joly and Bossuet came rushing down the aisle about thirty seconds later, and Joly loudly asked everyone if they had missed anything. 

“It’s the very beginning,” Bahorel replied, even louder. The man had absolutely no volume control. The couple in front of Grantaire turned around and glared at him again. The woman mouthed “control your friends,” and Grantaire snorted. Like that was ever going to happen. 

Grantaire’s plans to sleep through the film had been ruined by the fact that Enjolras was sitting next to him. He found himself looking at the blond more than the movie screen. The glow from it lit up his blond hair, making it shine in the dark theater. Enjolras furrowed his brow while he watched the musical, concentrating on the story. And he would bite his lip when things got dramatic or suspenseful. 

Eventually, Grantaire pulled his gaze away from Enjolras and started watching the musical. Admittedly, the film wasn’t terrible. It just wasn’t something he would have watched by himself. 

About two-thirds of the way through the musical and halfway through his bag of M&Ms, Grantaire felt something heavy drop on his left shoulder. He instinctively reached a hand up to push it off and froze when he touched soft curls. Slowly, without shifting his shoulder, he looked over to the seat beside him. Enjolras had fallen asleep, his head resting in the crook of Grantaire’s neck. Grantaire’s heart pounded in his chest. Enjolras looked angelic, his flush pink lips curved into a smile and his golden hair cascading down Grantaire’s arm. 

With a shaky hand, Grantaire brushed a few loose curls out of Enjolras’s face. He was beautiful. “Apollo,” he whispered, “I love you.” 

He leaned down to place a soft kiss on Enjolras’s forehead, but suddenly stopped. Enjolras was beginning to wake up. Leaping up from his seat, Grantaire made a mad dash for the bathroom, ignoring his friend’s confused looks. He stayed there until the end of the movie, hiding in one of the stalls. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> guess who's writing a christmas scene in septemberrrrr
> 
> happy heccckiiing hollidaaayss

The third time Grantaire tried to kiss Enjolras was at Courfeyrac’s annual Christmas party, which was held in the backroom of Musain. He had gone all out with the decorations, enlisting Feuilly and Grantaire to help him make holiday-themed paper garlands and Bahorel to pick up a tree. The man showed up to the party a half-hour early with Jehan and a small spruce in tow. 

“Help,” Jehan squeaked. He was carrying the back end of the spruce tree, struggling with its weight, while Bahorel carried the front.

Courfeyrac looked up from where he was hanging some fairy lights on the wall. “I got you, Prouvaire.” He jumped down from the ladder he had been standing on and made his way over to his boyfriend. Giving him a reassuring smile, Courfeyrac took hold of the back end of the tree and helped Bahorel move it to the corner of the room. 

“Thanks, Courf.” Jehan reached up and gave him a kiss. Courfeyrac kissed him back and Bahorel made a gagging sound, making Feuilly laugh. 

Grantaire sighed and went back to decorating the garland he was making. He wasn’t nearly as good at paper crafting as Feuilly was. 

Twenty minutes later, the rest of the Amis started to trickle in. First, it was Joly, Musichetta, and Bossuet, then Marius and Cosette, who brought homemade gingerbread cookies (bless that girl and her wonderful baking skills), and then Eponine. Eponine sauntered over to where Grantaire was sitting and perched on top of the table in front of him. She was wearing a bright green sweater that said, “This is My Resting Grinch Face.” Grantaire raised an eyebrow at it. 

“What?” Eponine snapped. “Azelma and Gavroche got it for me last year. I like it.”

“Ok, yeah, I remember now. It’s real...festive.”

Eponine gave him a soft punch in the arm. “Where’s your holiday cheer, R?” She teased. “I thought you loved Christmas.” 

“Sure,” he mumbled, not really listening. He was watching the front door instead. Enjolras and Combeferre still hadn’t arrived yet and it was making him anxious. 

Eponine followed his gaze. “Mmm,” she hummed, “so that’s it.” She slid off the table and into the chair beside Grantaire. “Look at me, Grantaire.”

Grantaire reluctantly looked up at Eponine. He was worried that….yep, she had that mischievous twinkle in her eye again. That never bode well. 

“Grantaire, you know Enjolras has a crush on you, right? Why haven’t you done anything about it?”  
“No, he doesn’t, ‘Ponine. He just pities me. _Everyone knows that_.” 

His comment caused Eponine to howl with laughter and a few of the Amis to look their way. He glared at her. “What the hell are you trying to do here?” Grantaire said, pulling her in.

Smirking, Eponine said, “Hey, if you aren’t going to do anything, I will. I can’t bear the tension any more.” She pushed away from Grantaire and stood up. “And it looks like he just arrived.” 

“Fuck you, Eponine Thenardier,” he hissed. She flipped him off in response as she walked away. 

Grantaire dragged his hands down his face, suppressing a groan. This was going to be a  _ long  _ party. 

***

And it was. The night dragged on and on and two hours later Eponine still hadn’t done anything. The anticipation of it was slowly killing him. Usually, Grantaire loved celebrating Christmas with his friends (Free gifts? Hell yeah.) but now he was terrified to find out what Eponine had in store for him and Enjolras. She was spending most of her time standing by the Christmas tree with Bahorel, sipping on a peppermint cocktail and whispering in his ear. Every now and again, they would laugh and shoot pointed looks at Grantaire. He gritted his teeth when he heard another drunken giggle escape Eponine. He didn’t need to look up to know that she was staring at him. God, he hated those two sometimes. 

The hardest part about the night wasn’t that, though. It was avoiding Enjolras, who was very determined to speak to Grantaire for some reason. Grantaire figured Eponine would be able to pull whatever stunt she had planned if they were together for too long, so he was doing everything he could to ignore Enjolras. But damn, he was  _ persistent _ . Grantaire found himself barging in on random games and conversations the Amis were having to escape him. And he went to the bathroom at least fifteen times in the span of an hour, knowing that the man wouldn’t follow him in there. But there wasn’t much he could do when Enjolras stepped directly in front of him and said, “can we talk?” 

“Yeah, whatever,” Grantaire mumbled, keeping his eyes trained on Eponine. She and Bahorel had stopped laughing and were now watching Enjolras and Grantaire curiously. Fuck them, he thought. 

Enjolras guided Grantaire over to one of the corner tables and sat down. There was an unreadable expression on his face. “Please don’t ignore me anymore. I’ve been meaning to talk to you for a while now.” He paused and briefly looked down in his lap. “I don’t know if you feel the same way Grantaire, but I--”

Grantaire had stopped listening. Eponine and Bahorel had disappeared. How could he have let this happen? “Fuck no,” Grantaire said angrily, and promptly ran off. 

Enjolras started to stand up to go after Grantaire, but caught himself and sat back down. The man’s words seemed to hit him right then. He slunk down into his seat, covering his face with his hands. “I don’t understand,” Enjolras whispered to himself. “You said you loved me.” 

Joly chose that moment to announce they were taking photos. There was a collective groan from the group, but the energetic man ignored it. “But you all look so good in your Christmas sweaters!” He said excitedly. “It makes me so... _ Jolly _ .”

His pun earned him yet another groan from the group. Grinning, he waved it off and herded everyone towards the front of the room, occasionally poking them in the back with his cane if they didn’t walk fast enough. 

The last thing Enjolras wanted to do right now was fake a pretty smile for some pictures, but he also didn’t want to disappoint his friends. So he let Joly drag him along with everyone else and position him in the back of their group. Enjolras had learned that being tall was beneficial when taking photos with lots of people; they always stuck you near the end where you could hide from the camera. And short raven-haired boys that sent you mixed messages. 

“Hey, guys and gals! Up here,” Joly called. He clicked the timer button on his digital camera and placed it on its tripod before rushing over to join the picture. “Say, Happy Holidays!”

The loud shouts and expletives that followed sounded nothing like “Happy Holidays,” but Joly would take what he could get.

Joly went up to check the photographs after everyone had calmed down. He frowned as he swiped through the camera. “Bossuet, your eyes are closed in all of them. How does that happen?” 

***

Grantaire couldn’t believe it. He had made it through the entire party without Eponine or Bahorel messing with him and had even managed to avoid Enjolras for the remainder of the night. Thank god. 

He agreed to stay behind to help Feuilly, Jehan, and Courfeyrac clean up with the promise that he would get to keep any leftover cookies Cosette had brought. It was a  _ great _ deal. While they all worked, they exchanged their favorite moments from the past year and what they were looking forward to in the upcoming one. 

“Finally getting together with this little poet was the highlight of my year,” Courfeyrac said. He tousled Jehan’s hair fondly, and the ginger blushed. 

“Mine too, Courf.” 

Feuilly stuck out his tongue at the happy couple. “You two are so sweet you’re going to give me a cavity.” They all laughed. 

Luckily, the clean-up didn’t last more than forty-five minutes. Most of the Amis had helped take down some decorations on their way out and soon Grantaire was grabbing his coat and waving his friends goodbye, a container of gingerbread men tucked safely under his arm. As he made his way towards the door, he pulled out his phone and started to dial Eponine’s number. For all the stress she caused him tonight, she owed him a drink. 

Grantaire was just typing in the last digit of her phone number when he heard the Musain’s door open. “Cafe’s closed,” he said, not looking up from his cell, “I mean, I thought that would be a given considering the hour, but…” 

“I’m here to get my coat, Grantaire. I left it here.”

_ Shit.  _ It was Enjolras. Of fucking course it was. “Oh, yeah. Go ahead,” Grantaire said. “I was just leaving. Courfeyrac is still in the back with Jehan and Feuilly.” He started to scurry past Enjolras and push the door open, but Enjolras stopped him, placing a hand on his shoulder. Grantaire gulped and forced himself to turn around. Enjolras was looking at Grantaire through his golden curls, which had fallen out of their red ribbon and into his face. Grantaire resisted the urge to brush them away.

Enjolras removed his hand from Grantaire’s shoulder. “I’m sorry.”

“No,” Grantaire said. “I shouldn't have ignored you.” 

Enjolras gave him a wistful, almost sad smile. “Grantaire, I shouldn’t have assumed that you--”

He trailed off. Grantaire tucked a strand of Enjolras’s hair behind his ear, heart pounding as he did so. Enjolras reached up and laced his fingers through Grantaire’s. “Assumed what?” Grantaire murmured softly. 

Grantaire gently cupped Enjolras’s face with his other hand, softly rubbing his thumb on the side of his cheek. “Enjolras,” he breathed. He couldn’t help himself. He leaned in, closing the gap between them. Slowly, Enjolras did too. 

“No, this is wrong,” Enjolras suddenly shoved himself off of Grantaire. His cheeks were red, from embarrassment or anger, Grantaire couldn’t tell. “You’re messing with me, aren’t you?” 

Grantaire blinked. “No, I..I..Enjolras...” 

Enjolras shook his head. “I need to go,” he said. Enjolras pushed past Grantaire and swiftly exited the Musain, leaving Grantaire standing in the doorway by himself.

Grantaire slumped against the door, defeated. If he had just listened to Enjolras, if he hadn’t ignored him...Grantaire was such a fuck-up. With a groan, he threw his head back and stared up at the ceiling. 

The ceiling. The fucking  _ ceiling _ . Grantaire sat up straight, staring at the branch hanging from it. Of course that’s what she did. She had the match-making capabilities of a middle schooler. Grantaire pulled his phone out of his pocket, cursing. But sure enough, there was a text from Eponine. 

_ “Did the mistletoe work? ;) ;) ;)”  _

God, he was going to kill her. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i don't know when i decided that eponine likes frosty the snowman but somewhere along the way it happened
> 
> i know i'm confused too

The fourth time Grantaire tried to kiss Enjolras, he used a pick-up line. Or more accurately,  _ Bahorel _ used a pick-up line and Grantaire never should have trusted him. 

Eponine and Bahorel showed up at Grantaire’s around 4 am, banging on his door loudly and shouting, “Open up, it’s Christmas!” like over-excited five-year-olds. Five-year-olds that were probably drunk. 

At first, Grantaire tried to ignore them. He pulled a pillow over his head to block out the noise and nestled into his blankets more, hoping the warmth would bring him back to sleep. It was beginning to work, but when Eponine started half-singing, half-rapping the Frosty the Snowman theme song and Bahorel did some weird interpretive beatboxing in the background, it was too much. 

“What the fuck?” Grantaire said, slamming the front door open. “It’s way too early for this. And don’t you both have a spare key to my apartment?” 

Eponine stopped rapping. “Yeah, but it’s way more fun this way. And jeez, lighten up! Have you forgotten what day it is? It’s Christmas!” She sang the last sentence. 

Grantaire had indeed forgotten what day it was. Since Courfyerac’s party two days ago and incident number three with Enjolras, he had holed himself up in his room, only coming out to eat, and done nothing but watch Netflix, paint, and sleep. 

Bahorel seemed to have caught on to his depressed state. “Everything ok, Grantaire?” he asked at the same time Eponine proceeded to tell him he looked like complete shit. 

“I’d take normally offense to that,” Grantaire said, ignoring Bahorel’s question, “but I do.” 

Eponine snickered. “You normally look like shit, so take offense.” Grantaire sighed and ran a hand through his messy hair. He knew Eponine well enough that he still wouldn’t be offended.

In the corner of his eye, Grantaire saw a light coming from the apartment above him.  _ Oh crap.  _ They had woken up Javert, an elderly man who probably never slept anyway, but who also never hesitated to call the police when he saw something he deemed disruptive of the law. Three college kids loitering outside his apartment building at 4 am, two drunkenly singing Christmas carols, more than fit the bill for him. 

“Get inside,” Grantaire hissed. He grabbed Eponine and Bahorel’s hands and dragged them through the door into his apartment, shutting the door behind them. That was when he noticed they were carrying gift bags. For him…? Grantaire paled. He hadn’t thought to get them anything, God he could be self-absorbed sometimes…

Eponine noticed his panic. “No, I didn’t get you anything. You already have _ all _ the art supplies in the world, and I wouldn’t know what else to buy you. Like oil pastels or soft pastels? You own them. Probably. And what’s the difference between the two? I have no idea. And you have a guitar, I can’t buy you another one, that’s out of my price range…” Eponine flopped down on his beaten-up couch. “Being my friend is your gift,” she said cheekily. 

Grantaire rolled his eyes, but he was smiling. “I accept my gift,” he replied, and he sat down beside her on the couch. 

Clearing his throat, Bahorel said, “just to be clear, I didn’t get you anything either. We all didn’t get each other anything, so that’s good, right?” 

“It’s fine,” Grantaire said. “But yeah, what’s in the bags then?” 

“Glad you asked.” Bahorel grinned. “We’re playing White Elephant. ‘Ponine and I decided last night. We both just found some stuff from around our house and brought it.”

“How are we going to play White Elephant with three people? And you decided this without me?” 

Eponine pushed him off the couch. “Just go get some random crap and we’ll start.” Grantaire rolled his eyes again but didn’t comment. He walked back into his bedroom and turned on the light. He didn’t really have any random junk lying around; just empty beer bottles, unfinished doodles by his easel, old art paintbrushes, and charcoal pencils. 

Grantaire’s eyes landed on his sketchbook. If he used some of his drawings in their White Elephant game it would be pretty clear that they were his contributions, but he was pretty sure that they were all going to be obvious if only three people were playing. Grantaire picked up his sketchbook and began to flip through it, searching for two specific drawings. He drew the Amis a lot, when he was bored during meetings or when they were hanging out and he didn’t think anyone was looking. Bossuet was fun to draw, as he always wore different hats to hide his bald spot, which varied from fedoras to newsboy caps. Sketching Jehan was more of a challenge, as he had dozens of freckles, plaited hair, and wide green eyes. And every time Grantaire drew Marius, he couldn’t help but snicker. Not at his face, but at the confused, curious expression he always seemed to wear. It reminded him of an innocent puppy. However, Eponine and Bahorel were some of his favorite people to draw. Eponine, who always had a strong but sad look in her eyes, and Bahorel, who had a taunting smirk. 

But as much as Grantaire enjoyed drawing the Amis, he enjoyed drawing Enjolras more. Enjolras, with his intense gaze, soft features, bright blue eyes, and lips that curved downward into a disdainful frown,  _ filled _ the pages of Grantaire’s sketchbook. He realized this as he flipped through it and a blush spread across his cheeks. 

“Grantaire! Any year now,” Eponine called. “To be honest, I really don’t care if you give me trash.” 

“I’m coming, just hang on,” Grantaire shouted back. He found the two drawings he was looking for, one of Bahorel and one of Eponine, and joined them in the living room again. 

***

After an absolutely  _ rousing _ game of White Elephant, which ended in Bahorel and Eponine just getting their drawings from Grantaire and Grantaire getting a half-used bar of soap from Bahorel and another bag of M&Ms from Eponine, they settled down on the couch to watch a Christmas movie. 

“We’re watching Frosty the Snowman or I’m fucking leaving,” Eponine said bitterly. 

Grantaire took a swig from his wine bottle before passing it to Bahorel. “Seriously, what is with you and Frosty?” 

Eponine shrugged. “It’s a classic.” 

Bahorel drummed his fingers on the side of the bottle. “If we’re talking classics, we’re talking The Nightmare Before Christmas.”

“Hell yeah,” Grantaire whooped. “I think Bossuet lent me that and I never gave it back. Let me see.” He got up from the couch and went to his room to search for the DVD. 

Grantaire was gone for all of five minutes when he heard Eponine and Bahorel loudly giggling. He froze. Again, that did not bode well. 

To his dismay, he found the two hunched over his phone, scrolling through it. “What the hell?” Grantaire cried. “How did you two get into my phone?” He lunged for the device, but Bahorel stood up and held it above his head, out of Grantaire’s reach. 

From where she was sitting on the couch, Eponine laughed. “Your password is 24601. You told me when you were drunk a while back.”

Grantaire glared at her. “How many times have you used my phone without me knowing?” 

“Not enough for you to notice, apparently.” 

Bahorel chimed in. “But hey, we haven’t done anything on it yet.”

“Yet,” Grantaire sneered. “Give it back, Bahorel.” 

Shaking his head, Bahorel said, “No, we had an idea. You should---”

“If this has anything to do with Enjolras, fuck no.” 

Eponine stood up and folded her arms. “It has everything to do with Enjolras. You two desperately need help. Especially after your  _ sad _ interactions at Courf’s party. And I really thought the mistletoe was a good idea.” She shrugged at Bahorel, who shrugged back. “But Grantaire, you totally missed the opportunity to use that.”

“You guys are ridiculous,” Grantaire muttered. He threw himself onto the couch, not having the energy to argue back. “Can you just give me my phone?” 

“If you let me send a text to Enjolras, yes,” Bahorel said. Grantaire groaned. He didn’t think he’d  _ ever _ sent a personal text to Enjolras before. They were both in the Amis’s group chat, but they didn’t message each other outside of that. And considering all the awkward interactions they had been having lately, he didn’t think now was a good time to start. 

“It’s 6 am on Christmas morning,” Grantaire reasoned. “He’s probably still asleep or celebrating. We shouldn’t bother him.” 

“Pffttt,” Eponine snorted. “Since when has bothering Enjolras ever been a concern of yours?” Grantaire flipped her off. 

“Seriously though, just let me send  _ one  _ text,” Bahorel said. There was a kind smile on his face and Grantaire didn’t trust it one bit. “I’ll let you check the message before I send it if you would like.”

Grantaire reached for the bottle of wine on the coffee table. He wasn’t drunk enough for this. After taking a long swig, he mumbled “whatever,” and buried his face in the couch cushions. At this point, he didn’t think there was anything Bahorel could do to make his relationship with Enjolras worse.

Bahorel lit up. “I’m taking that as a yes!” He began to furiously type out a message on Grantaire’s phone. Eponine scurried over to him and he held out the phone so she could see what he was writing. Her eyes widened when she saw the screen. 

“Seriously? Guys are so cheesy. That would never work on me,” she huffed. 

Bahorel laughed. “To be honest? I would totally go for it.” Eponine tsked in disapproval. 

“Do I even want to know?” Grantaire sighed. His head was still buried in the pillows of the couch.

“Probably not,” Eponine said honestly. She sat down on the coffee table and grabbed the bottle of alcohol, only to find it empty. “R, you finished it,” she whined. 

“You’ve had enough anyway,” Bahorel said. He was grinning widely at the phone in his hands. “And there...sent.” 

Grantaire moaned. His friends were total assholes. “Do you want to read what I---”

“No,” Grantaire said to Bahorel, defeated. “Turn off my phone and put it away. Hide it somewhere I’ll never find it. Burn it. Smash it. Throw it off the Arc de Triomphe or Eiffel Tower, I don’t give a flying fuck. I just don’t want to read what you wrote.” 

“Smart man,” Eponine called from Grantaire’s kitchen. It sounded like she was raiding his fridge. Grantaire hadn’t even heard her get up. Oh well. 

“Bring back food,” Grantaire yelled to her, his voice muffled a little by the couch cushions, “oh, heat up a frozen pizza.” He knew she was rolling her eyes at his request. 

“You’re demanding!” Eponine said. 

“It’s my food!”

“So?” 

“I’m saying if you help make it you can eat it too. ” 

“Oh, how kind.”

“You’re already raiding my fridge, Eponine! Can you just make the pizza?”

“Fuck no. Get up and do it yourself.” 

Suddenly, Bahorel let out an enthusiastic shout, and Eponine and Grantaire stopped bickering. He was holding the latter’s phone again, looking  _ way  _ too excited. Grantaire leaped to his feet, beginning to panic. “I thought you turned off my phone, Bahorel!”

Bahorel ignored Grantaire and continued to stare down at the phone, giggling like a schoolgirl. 

Not one to miss any drama, Eponine came running in from the kitchen with a bag of chips in her hand. “Wat? Wat iz happonin?” she asked through a mouthful of Doritos. Bahorel waved her over and she quickly scrambled to see the phone screen in his hand. Her jaw dropped and a few bits of Dorito fell out. “Oh mai gahd,” she gasped. 

At this point, Grantaire was freaking out. He  _ had  _ to see what Bahorel sent Enjolras. He jumped up and successfully snatched the device out of the other man’s hand, disregarding his disgruntled cry. Eponine ran after Grantaire as he made a mad dash for his bedroom, slamming and locking the door behind him. 

“Just saying, it’s not my fault,” she said, repeatedly knocking on his door. “Bahorel is a terrible flirt.” 

_ Flirt?  _ Bahorel did _ not  _ try to flirt with Enjorlas for him. He would not stoop that low.  __ Eponine was joking---she had to be. Still, Grantaire’s hands shook as he scrolled through his phone, looking for his most recent messages. 

**Grantaire:** Merry Christmas Enjolras!

Grantaire let out a sigh of relief when he read it. That wasn’t bad at all. It was kind of lame, actually. But perhaps that was good. His relationship with Enjolras was a little rocky right now, so small, sweet messages like that were the best place to start.

Outside of his bedroom, Eponine coughed. “You’re still there?” Grantaire said, mildly annoyed. 

The door moved back slightly as Eponine leaned against it. “Bahorel sent two messages,” she replied. “Keep reading.” 

Grantaire bristled. He said Bahorel could only send one. Pulling up the conversation again, Grantaire scrolled past the first message. 

**Grantaire:** If kisses are snowflakes, I’m sending you a blizzard ;)

“What the _ fuck _ !” Grantaire threw his phone across the room, not caring where it landed. This was bad. Very, very, very bad. Enjolras was never going to forgive him for this. He grabbed a pillow from his bed and threw that across the room too because throwing things felt like a good idea right now. It hit Eponine in the side, who had just burst into the room with Bahorel and a bobby pin in her hand. Curse her knowledge of picking locks. 

“Get out,” Grantaire growled. “You two have officially fucked up my relationship with Enjolras with all your matchmaking bullshit. Just get out.” 

Eponine placed her hands on her hips. “It was fucked up to begin with. We were trying to help.” 

“You clearly made it worse! Although this is the creme da la creme of all your terrible plans.” Grantaire turned to face Bahorel. “A cheesy pick-up line? Really?” 

Bahorel shrugged. “I thought it would be a light-hearted, funny way for you to flirt and wish him a happy holiday. He likes your jokes.” 

Grantaire was shaking, either from anger or embarrassment, or a combination of both. “It’s not!” he said, his voice rising. “It’s fucking not. You took it too far. Enjolras doesn’t like my jokes and he definitely doesn’t like me flirting with him.” 

Eponine and Bahorel shared a knowing look. It made Grantaire’s blood boil.

“No! I know what you’re going to say, he doesn’t like me! Enjolras doesn’t like me, Enjolras doesn’t like me,  _ Enjolras doesn’t fucking like me _ !” 

Grantaire stopped screaming when a loud thump came from the apartment above. “If you kids don’t shut up I’m calling the police right now!” It was Javert. “You know I’ll do it!” 

The three stayed silent for a moment, Grantaire just catching his breath and Eponine and Bahorel staring up at the ceiling. “You have nice neighbors,” Eponine finally commented. Grantaire said nothing in response and instead plopped down on his bed and sighed. Eponine sat down on his right and Bahorel on his left. “I’m sorry, R.”

Bahorel rubbed his eyes. “Me too. I went too far with Enjolras. I can text him myself and let him know that I---”

“No, it’s fine. Just let him think I was totally wasted or something. But I’m sorry too. I shouldn’t have yelled at you guys like that.” 

Eponine patted him on the shoulder stiffly. She had never been the best at showing affection or empathy, but she tried. Conversations like these were especially difficult for her and she did her best to end them quickly. “It’s fine. Are we all good?” Eponine looked over at her friends, trying to read their expressions. Bahorel seemed a little tired, but he nodded. Grantaire looked nervous, but he gave Eponine what he hoped was a reassuring smile. She smiled back. 

“I think Elf is on Netflix,” he said. “If you both still watch a movie.” 

“As long as I can make us that pizza, sure,” Eponine said. 

Rolling his eyes, Grantaire gave her a playful shove.“Don’t be all sympathetic towards me now,” he teased. 

She shoved him back. “I’m not, I just got hungry. And there’s nothing like pizza for breakfast.” 

“Then what the hell are all waiting for? An invitation? Let’s eat pizza and watch a trashy Christmas movie.” Bahorel jumped up from the bed. 

“Take that back,” Eponine said, standing up as well. She waved a finger in Bahorel’s face. “Elf is a classic.” 

Bahorel raised an eyebrow. “As classic as Frosty the Snowman?” 

“Now that movie is a fucking masterpiece.” 

“I seriously can’t tell if you’re joking.” 

Still arguing, Eponine and Bahorel started to walk out of Grantaire’s bedroom and make their way back into the common space. Grantaire let out a loud sigh before picking himself up off his bed and going to follow them. He froze, only halfway out of his room, when he heard his phone chime. It was the default noise, which Grantaire didn’t use for any of his contacts. Everyone in his phone had their own unique ringer to let him know who had texted or called him, everyone except…

“Fuck,” Grantaire cursed. He began to frantically search for his phone under the piles of dirty socks, broken pencils and crumpled up papers on his floor. He really should clean his room. 

Finally, he found it hidden behind his easel. There was a small crack in the corner of the screen from when he had thrown it, but right now that was the least of his worries. His whole body was shaking when he picked up the phone. Grantaire never texted Enjolras. He just didn’t. So the one time that he did, or that Bahorel did, he sent him a pick-up line. He sent a pick-up line to  _ Enjolras,  _ who not only hated pick-up lines and thought they were a form of sexual harassment but was the absolute love of Grantaire’s life.

And now, for some goddamn reason, Enjolras had decided to text him back. This was torture, Grantaire decided. With trembling hands, he started to type in his password. 

“Hey, R! Everything alright in there?” Eponine yelled from the kitchen. “We just put the pizza in the oven.” 

“Fine,” was all Grantaire could manage to say back. After typing in his password wrong three times, he was able to unlock his phone on the fourth attempt. The messaging app opened up immediately, displaying his new texts, and Grantaire felt his breath catch in his throat. 

**Enjolras:** Pick-up lines never work. 

Grantaire stared down at his phone, trying to figure out how to interpret the text when it pinged again.

**Enjolras:** Also, Bahorel has used that one a million times. I thought you were more creative. 

“I am,” Grantaire scoffed. He started to type back a retort but stopped himself before he could send it. Texting wasn’t something he and Enjolras did. Messaging him in the first place was a mistake and he had to play it off like one. Out of nowhere, his phone pinged again. 

**Enjolras:** Anyhow. Merry Christmas, Grantaire. 

Grantaire’s cheeks warmed. Perhaps messaging Enjolras wasn’t a mistake. Smiling at the phone in his hand, Grantaire whispered, “Merry Christmas, Apollo." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i guess grantaire doesn't really try to kiss enjolras in this chapter but its my story so shut up ok i like itttttt


	5. Chapter 5 (Part 1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Soooooo......I feel really bad about not posting an update for this story since like the 7th of September *cringes* I promise that I've been working on the 5th chapter...it's just a big boi. A long boi. Idk. School's really been crazy for me lately and I've been juggling a lot of stuff, but I'm sorry I haven't posted an update for a while. The 5th chapter isn't actually done yet, but I wanted to post SOMETHING, so here's a little excerpt from it so you can get a feel for how the chapter will go! Hope you're all doing well and staying safe. :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> grantaire is like, "oh crap, enjolras looks pretty hot."

The fifth time Grantaire tried to kiss Enjolras, it was on New Year’s eve. 

“Courf, you throw too many parties,” Grantaire grumbled from the doorway of Courfeyrac and Jehan’s apartment. “It hasn’t even been a week since your Christmas one.” 

Courfeyrac just laughed at Grantaire and led him into the living room, where he had once again gone crazy with the party decorations. Shimmery silver and purple streamers were dangling from the ceiling and a large banner that read “Happy New Years” was draped across the fireplace. A small disco ball hung from the fan, lighting up the darkened room. And everywhere Grantaire looked, there were balloons. Just balloons. Everywhere. Taped to the walls, chairs, doors...and they completely covered the floor. There had to be hundreds of them filling the small apartment, bouncing around the room as the Amis danced and shouted along to the year’s top hits. 

Grantaire wondered how long it would take before they got a noise complaint from the neighbors. 

“How long did it take to blow up all those balloons?” Grantaire asked. 

Courfeyrac’s smile vanished instantly. “We started three weeks ago,” he said seriously. “Jehan almost passed out multiple times.” 

It was Grantaire’s turn to laugh now. “Why the hell did you blow up so many?”

Courfeyrac began to protest, saying the balloons were a necessary addition to the party when the door to the apartment opened and Enjolras stepped in with Feuilly and Combeferre. Grantaire felt his heart skip a beat when he saw him. 

Enjolras looked gorgeous. There was no other way to say it. His long, wavy hair was tied back into a loose braid and the ribbon that he usually used to hold it off his face was weaved through the knots. The dark crimson fabric was a sharp contrast against his golden locks and pale skin, but fit in well with his red blazer. His cheeks and nose were dusted with glitter and it looked like Feuilly had painted a little sun and some shimmery stars in the corner of his eyes. Oh, his  _ eyes.  _ In the flickering light provided by the disco ball, Enjolras’s piercing blue eyes sparkled. 

“Enjolras! You made it! And you look absolutely fabulous,” Courfeyrac gasped. “Is that glitter? Oh my god, I knew I’d convert you someday.” 

Before Enjolras could respond, a loud crash came from the other side of the room and everyone jumped. Bossuet tripped over a balloon while he was dancing with Joly and knocked the cocktail out of his hand. It had hit the ground and shattered instantly, sending shards of glass all over the floor. 

“Bossuet!” Joly cried. “Are you alright?” 

Bossuet chuckled. “Yeah, I’m fine.” He gave both Courfeyrac and Jehan an apologetic look. “Sorry about your glass, guys.” 

Jehan waved it off, smiling. “I figured we’d break  _ something _ tonight. With us, it’s kind of inevitable.” Everyone laughed, including Bossuet. 

“I’ll go get the vacuum,” Courfeyrac said suddenly. “We’d better clean up this glass before anyone steps on it. R, come help me.” He grabbed Grantaire’s hand and dragged him through the apartment. 

Grantaire followed Courfeyrac down the hallway in a daze, his mind racing. Enjolras had glitter on his face, who said it was okay for him to do that? Enjolras was wearing a red blazer, nobody could pull that off but _ damn  _ he was pulling it off. And oh god, Enjolras had a fucking ribbon braided into hair, why was that so  _ hot? _ Enjolras, Enjolras, Enjolras…

SMACK! Grantaire’s frantic thoughts were interrupted by Courfeyrac slapping him not-so-gently across the face. “R, cut it out!” he hissed. “You were literally gawking at him, everyone noticed.” 

Grantaire rubbed the side of his cheek. “You didn’t need to hit me,” he mumbled.

“I said your name three times and you didn’t respond. So yes, I did. Pull yourself together, man.” 

“How? I’m fucking trash and he’s...he’s...a god,” Grantaire said quietly. He leaned back against Courfeyrac’s bedroom door and hid his face in his hands. Courfeyrac shook his head in disagreement, exasperated. 

“Well if I’m being honest, you’re not a total catch, but neither is my man Enj. You’re both disasters in your own special way! I know you two will figure this out---just talk to him. But hey, can you move now, the vacuum is in my room.” 

“Wow, thanks for the pep talk, Courf.” 

Courfeyrac gave him finger guns in reply. “Go get ‘em, tiger.” 

Grantaire groaned from underneath his hands. 


	6. Chapter 5 (Part 2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh i actually posted another chapter
> 
> (you know i should be working on other stuff right now but shhhh we don't need to talk about that) 
> 
> but anyway here's part 2 to chapter five! finally! yay! i'm so happy guys :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i swear i screamed while writing this chapter
> 
> also fuck you marius

Enjolras did  _ not _ like parties. If it wasn’t for his friends constantly dragging him along to them, he would never go. The events were extremely rowdy and got out of control too fast...and not to mention all the alcohol. For the most part, his friends were responsible drinkers, but on New Year’s everyone let loose a little bit. Except for Enjolras, who was completely sober. He had unwillingly become the designated driver for the Amis because of this. 

When Courfeyrac had asked Enjolras to come to his New Year’s celebration, Enjolras’s first response was to decline the invitation. He wasn’t interested in spending another night awkwardly standing in the corner while all his friends danced and sang together (both were skills he didn’t have). But he  _ really _ wasn’t interested in seeing Grantaire again, not after the Christmas party. He still needed time to sort some things out before he saw the artist again. 

Of course, Combeferre and Feuilly had immediately decided that they were going. Neither of them were big partiers or drinkers, but apparently a New Year’s Eve celebration hosted by Courfeyrac was “something you couldn’t miss.” 

However, Feuilly still couldn’t believe Enjolras when he told him he wasn’t going. “What? Why not?” he cried.

Shrugging, Enjolras said “you know I’m not a big fan of parties.” 

“It’s Grantaire, isn’t it?”

Enjolras turned a deep shade of red. “Where did you possibly get that idea?” He said.

“Where  _ everyone  _ else got it, idiot.” Feuilly poked Enjolras in the ribs playfully. “But hey, I really think you should go. And if you do, why not “spiffy” yourself up a bit? You always wear the same clothes. Maybe try your red blazer.” 

Enjolras scowled. “I’m not trying to get his attention! And spiffy? Really, Feuilly?”

Laughing, Feuilly said “just let me know if you want me to braid your hair. I’ve had a lot of practice living with foster sisters.” He walked away before Enjolras could reply. 

Silently fuming, Enjolras turned his attention back to the book he had been reading, trying to get his mind off of the party. It wasn’t working. He was rereading the same page over and over again, failing to process the information on it. He was too distracted. “This is stupid,” he angrily muttered to himself. “I know I’m not going.” 

He decided to make that perfectly clear to Feuilly and Combeferre during lunch. They told him they respected his decision and wouldn't push it, but the knowing look they shared wasn’t lost on Enjolras...but then again, neither was the twisting feeling in his gut the next night when they got ready for the party without him. Feuilly was trying to decide which of his two leather jackets he should wear while Combeferre desperately searched the apartment for his shoes. 

“They’re over here,” Enjolras called. “Under the couch.” 

Combeferre looked baffled as Enjolras handed him the shoes. “How did they...wow, I really need to keep track of my things.” 

Enjolras didn’t say anything. Feuilly had finally decided between his jackets (he was wearing the black one) and was ready to go. They were about to leave. Without him. To Courfeyrac’s party where Grantaire would be and---

“I’ve changed my mind,” Enjolras said suddenly. “I want to go.” 

Feuilly grinned. “Took you long enough! But no problem. We’re happy you’re coming.” 

Enjolras gave him a small smile. “Well, let’s go then.” He made a move to go get his shoes and Feuilly stopped him. 

“You aren’t like that. Sweatpants and an old t-shirt? You can do so much better, Enj.” 

“I don’t care how I look, you should know that.” Enjolras looked to Combeferre for some support, but the bespectacled man shook his head. 

“It’s New Years. You should dress up at least a little bit.” 

Enjolras groaned. “Give me ten minutes,” he muttered. He started towards his bedroom. 

“Can I put paint on your face?” Feuilly called after him. Enjolras sighed in response. 

Getting dressed for the party, Enjolras knew, was the easy part. As soon as he walked into Courfeyrac and Jehan’s apartment, he immediately began to question if he made the right decision. The loud thumping of the music and screaming/singing of his friends was enough to give him a terrible headache. But that, Enjolras supposed, was to be expected. What he didn’t expect was to come face-to-face with Grantaire first thing. And by the look on his face, neither did he. 

While Enjolras had put some effort into his outfit, Grantaire looked like he just rolled out of bed (which was very likely). He was unshaven and his hair was unkempt; messy black curls stuck out every which way under his signature knit cap. The clothes he was wearing, a baggy dark green hoodie and old black jeans, were stained with acrylic paint and his hands with pastel chalk. It was all so perfectly,  _ ridiculously  _ Grantaire. Enjolras bit the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling. He really was a mess. 

After Courfeyrac pulled Grantaire away to retrieve the vacuum, Enjolras fell into conversation with Jehan, who already seemed to be a little tipsy. It was more of a monologue than a dialogue, but Enjolras didn’t mind. Even with a martini in hand, Jehan had insightful things to say. But right now, hearing him talk was more of a distraction than anything else. His mind kept wandering back to Grantaire, who he could run into at this party at any moment. 

“I really like the ribbon in your braid,” Jehan said at one point. “I wish I thought of doing that.” He lightly touched his own hair, which he had piled on the top of his head in a small bun. 

Enjolras shrugged. He really didn’t know where the idea had come from. It wasn’t like he was good at styling his hair. His original plan was to wear it down, maybe clip a few strands of it back. But then he saw his red hair ribbon on his dresser and...well, it would be easier if he tied it up, right? It wouldn’t get in his eyes that way. 

“You know I’m not the only one who likes your hair.” Jehan teased quietly, interrupting Enjolras’s thought process. He poked him in the side, giggling. He was much shorter than Enjolras so he ended up jabbing his stomach instead of his ribs. 

“Jehan,” Enjolras began, a little annoyed, a little hurt, “Grantaire doesn’t return my---” 

Jehan cut him off, poking him again. He gave a discreet nod to the left, where Grantaire was sitting at the kitchen counter. “Over there, you idiot. He’s so obvious.” 

Out of the corner of his eye, Enjolras looked to where Jehan had nodded. Grantaire was perched on the farthest barstool with his back against the wall, having returned from wherever he was with Courfeyrac. His legs rested on the adjacent seat, folded over one another. A beer sat on the counter next to him as he casually looked at his phone. 

That wasn’t  _ too  _ weird, Enjolras thought. Grantaire was usually dancing and singing with most everyone else in the living room, him actually  _ being _ a dancer and all, but perhaps he was overtired tonight. Enjolras turned his head slightly to the left to see Grantaire better and froze when he met the man’s gaze. Grantaire’s eyes widened and he ducked his head, glancing back down at his phone again. 

“He’s been staring at you for the past five minutes,” Jehan giggled. “Using his phone as a cover isn’t very subtle.” 

Enjolras couldn’t help the blush that spread across his cheeks. “So?” He argued. “That doesn’t mean anything. He stares at me all the time.” 

Jehan gave Enjolras an exasperated smile. For someone who was incredibly smart, Enjolras could be really stupid sometimes. “I need another martini,” the poet said. “I’ll talk to you later, Enj. But consider going over and talking to Grantaire, ok?” He gave Enjolras’s hand a small squeeze before heading off to get a drink. 

Realizing he was now alone, Enjolras sighed. Most of the Amis were still dancing or drinking, and those were both activities he had zero interest in. Enjolras checked his watch and to his dismay it was only 11:58 pm. He still had a while to go before they counted down the new year and he could leave...although they would all probably end up crashing at Courfeyrac and Jehan’s after the party anyway. 

Enjolras leaned back against the wall he was standing near. He still hadn’t moved that far from the front door since he had come in about 45 minutes ago, but he was fine with it. His position gave him a surprisingly good view of the party, was directly across from the kitchen, and offered him a discreet exit if need be. Speaking of the kitchen...did he eat dinner? The growl that came from his stomach answered the question for him. 

Quietly, Enjolras made his way into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator door. Normally, he would feel guilty about raiding someone else’s fridge, but the amount of times Courfeyrac had come over just to eat the special chocolates Enjolras bought was infuriating. 

There was a nice variety of fruits and vegetables in the fridge (which Enjolras knew was all courtesy of Jehan---Courfeyrac would live off of ice cream and gummy bears if he could) but he eventually settled on a classic apple and some leftover quiche. The sounds from the party were drowned out a little bit in the kitchen, but with all the music and singing it was still quite loud. Enjolras wasn’t a fan of modern music, which was what was playing now; he was more of a rock ‘n roll and “oldies” person, but he’d never admit it to anyone. He started to absentmindedly hum a song as he finished his quiche and cleaned his plate in the sink, blocking out everything around him. 

Enjolras was so caught up in his own world he almost didn’t notice when another voice joined in with his, harmonizing slightly. 

“It's a little bit funny, this feelin' inside

I'm not one of those who can easily hide

I don't have much money, but boy, if I did

I'd buy a big house where we both could live.”

“Grantaire!” Enjolras stopped singing immediately and spun around to face the artist, his cheeks flushing. “What are you doing in here?” 

Grantaire raised an eyebrow. “I could ask you the same question.” He peered over Enjolras’s shoulder and into the sink. “Do you always hide out in Courf’s kitchen during parties and wash his dishes?” 

“Do you always have to be such an asshole?” Enjolras retorted. 

The other man didn’t reply. Instead, he walked over to Enjolras and hopped up on the kitchen counter next to him. Without taking his eyes off of him, Grantaire took a deep breath and continued to sing. 

“If I was a sculptor, but then again, no

Or a man who makes potions in a travelin' show

Oh, I know it's not much, but it's the best I can do

My gift is my song and this one's for you.”

Enjolras stared back at Grantaire. “You know Elton John?” he said softly. 

Grantaire gave the blond a small, shy smile. “Only because you do.” 

Not knowing how to respond, Enjolras turned away and went back to scrubbing his dishes, albeit a little harder this time. He didn’t understand Grantaire or anything he did. One moment he was fighting with Enjolras and the next he was acting friendly and even a little flirtatious towards him. It was completely maddening. 

Next to him, Grantaire chuckled. He leaned over and gently laid a hand on Enjolras’s shoulder. “Apollo, is everything okay? You’ve been washing that same dish for---” 

Out of nowhere, Enjolras slammed the plate in his hand down on the counter so hard Grantaire thought it was going to break. “What are you trying to accomplish here, Grantaire?” 

Grantaire’s eyes widened with surprise and he withdrew his hand. “What do you mean?” 

Enjolras was fuming. This was ridiculous. “I know you know how I feel about you. You’re just toying with my emotions, calling me Apollo and singing to me. Just fuck off.” He turned sharply on his heel and headed towards the door. Coming to this party was a huge mistake. Why did he let Feuilly talk him into it?

“Enjolras!” Grantaire cried. He jumped off the counter and stopped Enjolras at the door, who crossed his arms in annoyance. “Please, I...I don’t understand…” 

The blond gave Grantaire a blank look. Grantaire seemed genuinely confused. Hurt, even. Enjolras uncrossed his arms with a heavy sigh. He instinctively reached up to run a hand through his hair, a nervous habit, but froze when he felt the braid and ribbon instead. Grantaire laughed softly at this, and it took everything Enjolras had not to smile back at him. He had a wonderful laugh. 

“You’re an infuriating person,” Enjolras began cautiously, “and you have the uncanny ability to get on my nerves without even trying. At Amis meetings you start arguments with me and never participate in anything we do. I’ve never met someone as cynical, stubborn, and crude as you are, Grantaire. You don’t believe in anything I’m working to accomplish. And fuck,” his voice cracked slightly. “I should hate you, shouldn’t I? For giving me all of these mixed messages, for messing with me...and for always being such an asshole during meetings. But I’m no better. I’ve said terrible things to you, God, I’ve  _ been _ terrible to you. But somehow, sometime in between all our fights and disagreements, I fell in love with you. I fell in love with your witty retorts and thoughtful comebacks to my arguments, the crooked smile you always wear...I fell in love with everything. I’m in love with you, Grantaire, okay?” Enjolras practically shouted the last part, his cheeks red and eyes watery. 

Grantaire felt his breath catch in his throat. “Enjolras,” he rasped. “I’ve been in love with you ever since we met.”

Enjolras made a choking noise. “What?” He looked close to tears and Grantaire felt sick knowing he was the one who caused him to feel that way. 

“I’ve been in love with you ever since we met,” Grantaire repeated, at a lack of words. If there was ever a time for Grantaire to be his talkative self, now was it. He just couldn’t summon the courage to speak that he desperately needed. 

Instead, he reached out and tentatively brushed his fingertips against Enjolras’s hand. Slowly, the leader unfurled his fist and slipped his hand into Grantaire’s. “You’re telling the truth?” Enjolras asked quietly. He didn’t take his eyes off of the artist. 

Grantaire tightened his grip on Enjolras’s hand and took a deep breath. “Apollo, for you, and for any dear to you, I would do anything. I would embrace any sacrifice for you and for those dear to you. And when you see your own bright beauty springing up anew at your feet, think now and then that there is a man who would give his life, to keep a life you love beside you.” 

Enjolras stared at him, stoic, and for a moment Grantaire wondered if he said the wrong thing. But then Enjolras began to laugh.  _ Really _ laugh. He let go of Grantaire’s hand and fell back on the kitchen floor, giggling like a maniac. 

Grantaire grinned so wide his cheeks hurt. “Oh come on, it’s not that funny,” he protested. 

“You’re so dramatic,” Enjolras said, but he was smiling too. “ _ A Tale of Two Cites _ quote? You really know how to charm a guy.” 

“I know how to charm  _ you,  _ dork,” Grantaire said. He offered his hand to Enjolras who gladly took it. He tugged him up off the floor and pulled him in close. Enjolras raised his eyebrows in surprise, but didn’t comment. 

It was then when Grantaire realized how much taller Enjolras was then him. He involuntarily blushed and looked away while Enjolras snickered. “Problem, R?” 

Face still red, Grantaire shrugged. “I was just thinking it’s going to be hard to get a good angle to kiss you at if you're half a foot taller than me.”

Enjolras laughed again, this time soft and sweet. “I guess I’ll have to fix that.” He wrapped his arms around the artist’s waist and bent down. 

Heart pounding, Grantaire turned his head a little to the right and leaned up, ever-so-gently brushing his chapped lips against Enjolras’s soft ones. Fuck, was this actaully happening? No, this was actually happening, God, this was---

“Hey guys! The New Years countdown is happening soon, are you com--oh no, am I interrupting something?” Marius stood in the doorway of the kitchen, looking absolutely bewildered. 

Enjolras threw his head back and groaned. “No Marius, you are not interrupting  _ anything at all.”  _ Grantaire would have laughed, but Enjolras’s hands were still around his waist and just seconds ago he was about to kiss him. Fuck. 

Marius lit up. “Oh, good. I was worried I walked in on you two or something embarrassing like that! Anyway, come on, the countdown is about to start.” He waved for them to follow him into the living room, an oblivious smile on his face. 

To Grantaire’s chagrin, Enjolras withdrew his arms from him and pulled away. “You owe me,” Grantaire whispered as they followed Marius out. 

Chuckling, Enjolras rolled his eyes. “Same to you.” 

  
  
  



	7. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh my freaking god this story is finally done yeeeesssssss!!!!!!! *pulls out party popper, shoots confetti everywhere*
> 
> tbh this was supposed to like an 1,000 word thing i wrote in a week but as you all can see that totally did not happen....oops
> 
> anyway, thanks to all who stuck around to read this and i hope you enjoyed it! your kudos and comments mean a lot!  
> :) :) :) 
> 
> have a great day! -im_les_miserable

_ Enjolras was in love with him. _ Grantaire, the cynical fuck-up. No, he had to be dreaming. This kind of thing just didn’t happen to him, he never even allowed himself to believe it  _ could _ happen...Any minute he was going to wake up and it would all be over. Of course. 

Grantaire watched Enjolras talk with Marius and Cosette from across the room, feeling an odd mixture of euphoria and panic. The love of his life, the most intelligent, beautiful, selfless man Grantaire had ever known was just standing on the other side of the room, having nearly kissed him moments ago. Grantaire buried his head in his hands. He was so, so,  _ so _ fucked. 

“How’s it going, champ?” Grantaire hadn’t noticed Eponine approach him, a particularly sly smile on her face. 

Not looking up, he answered, “I think I’m fucked.”

Eponine rolled her eyes and took another sip of her drink. “Well,  _ hopefully _ .”

Grantaire’s retort was silenced by Courfeyrac calling for the attention of the group in the main room. “Everyo---Feuilly, can you turn the music down, I’m really straining my lungs here---ok, thanks. Now! Everyone.” He turned to face the Amis. “We have only _ five minutes  _ until it’s time to ring in the new year!” 

Courfeyrac was interrupted by loud, drunken cheering. “Ok, ok, listen! I’m not done yet!” Courfeyrac jumped on top of the couch, trying to regain the fleeting attention of the group. Unfortunately, Jehan was the only one who kept listening, and it was just to yell at Courfeyrac to get off the furniture. He climbed down, pouting. “I was gonna be all dramatic about it,” Courfeyrac shouted over the noise, “but you’ve all ruined the moment. Don’t worry though, I still got this.” He mouthed something to Feuilly, who had somehow become in charge of the music during the party, and he nodded back. It was time. 

Grantaire got an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach. Whatever Courfeyrac had planned, it was not good. He slowly began to back away towards the front door, ignoring the frown Eponine was now giving him. She gestured for him to come back and Grantaire shook his head. There was  _ definitely _ something weird going on. 

He was almost to the door when he heard it. The opening notes of… _ that song.  _ Grantaire immediately froze, a sharp chill shooting down his spine. With a deep breath, he looked up from where his hand was on the doorknob to see Enjolras standing a few feet in front of him, cheeks flushed. Neither of them moved. 

“My  _ god, _ get your asses over here,” Eponine grabbed Grantaire’s hand and pushed him towards Enjolras. “We didn’t all agree to play this song just so you two could awkwardly stare at each other like the idiots you are. There’s three and a half minutes until the new year and the song just started. Fucking dance.” 

Enjolras raised his eyebrows. “Don’t you think that’s a little---”

“DANCE ALREADY!” Everyone shouted. 

Grantaire didn’t have to be told again. He turned to face Enjolras, who looked more than a little flustered. Offering him a cheeky grin, Grantaire bowed and outstretched his hand. “May I have this dance?” 

Enjolras took his hand with a cautious smile. “I’m going to step on your toes.” 

“Oh, I’m counting on it.” 

Placing his other hand on Enjolras’s waist, Grantaire began to lead him in a simple waltz across the living room. As predicted, Enjolras struggled to follow along, stumbling over his own feet and Grantaire’s. He kept his head down, intently watching his footsteps. Grantaire just giggled at the blushing mess that was his normally stoic leader and pulled him in closer, leaning his head against the blond’s shoulder. “This okay?” 

Enjolras let go of Grantaire’s hand and shoulder and wrapped his hands around the man’s back. “It’s more than okay,” he whispered. 

Grantaire let out a satisfied “hmm” in response. The song was nearing its end way too quickly. He couldn’t resist quietly singing the final verses under his breath, just loud enough for him and Enjolras to hear. 

“If Heaven and Hell decide that they both are satisfied,

Illuminate the no's on their vacancy signs.

If there's no one beside you when your soul embarks...” 

“Then I'll follow you into the dark,” Enjolras finished softly. Surprised, Grantaire lifted his head up to meet Enjolras’s gaze. He was staring down at Grantaire, his blue eyes shining. 

Grantaire felt his heart skip a beat. Or three. God, it was now or never. Summoning courage he didn’t know he had, he reached up and took Enjolras’s face in his hands. “Enjolras,” he murmured, “I’ll follow you into---”

“HAPPY NEW YEAR!” The Amis screamed wildly as Courfeyrac’s countdown buzzer for the new year went off, Grantaire and Enjolras immediately being forgotten. Courfeyrac tackled Jehan to the ground for a kiss while Cosette and Marius took a less violent approach, sharing a small but sweet one. And for some reason, Bahorel decided to go around and kiss everyone sloppily on the cheek, getting laughs and a slap in the face from Eponine. Feuilly decided to turn the music on again after Bahorel kissed Eponine for the third time, saving him from yet another slap. 

Grantaire deflated. __ He’d waited too long, he’d missed his chance to kiss Enjolras. Embarrassed, He brought his attention back to the leader, where  _ oh god  _ he was still holding his face in his hands. Grantaire started to pull his arms back to his side but was intercepted by Enjolras, who grabbed his hands in his own. Enjolras looked him up and down, contemplative. He stopped when he got to Grantaire’s face, not so discreetly gazing at his lips. 

“Oh,  _ fuck _ it!” Before Enjolras could make a move, Grantaire kissed him. He wasn’t going to wait anymore. He wasn’t going to wait for the perfect fairytale moment, he wasn’t going to wait to summon up all the courage he wanted  _ just _ to have Marius walk in on them, he wasn’t going to miss another opportunity to feel Enjolras’s lips against his. This was it. 

Enjolras immediately kissed him back, a little inexperienced but determined. He let go of Grantaire’s hands in favor of running them through his hair, eliciting a deep sigh from him. Grantaire was lost, so lost in the feeling of Enjolras’s lips against his. How had they never done this before? Enjolras was a saint, he was a sinner,  _ fuck  _ he was going to be the goddamned death of Grantaire---

They broke apart, way too early for his liking. Breathless, Grantaire slowly opened his eyes and stared up at Enjolras. His braid had gotten all mussed up and his face was red, but he was smiling widely. “Apollo?” Grantaire said. 

“We should do that again.”

Grantaire laughed. He placed his hands around Enjolras’s waist and pulled him in even closer. “Why’d we ever stop?” 

Enjolras responded by pressing a quick kiss to his lips. “Happy New Year, Grantaire.” 

“Happy New Year, Enjolras.” 


End file.
